An (Un)Acceptable Arrangement
by aeskis
Summary: Now they're standing in the deserted street in a face-off, except, the Flash has the diamonds in his hands and is waving the necklace cheerfully in the air. "You're starting to make me lose my patience, kid," Len growls, hands tightening on the cold gun ever-present by his side. The Flash, the little shit, gives him a cheeky grin. "You mean, I'm just making you lose."
1. Chapter 1

Snart would consider himself a more deliberate man than most, always cool-headed, calculating to the point of obsession. And then the Flash appeared in his life, and now he's simply obsessed, or so Lisa has been telling him recently. He appreciates a good challenge—doesn't every self-respecting villain?—but lately the scarlet speedster has been interfering in. every. one. of his heists, resulting in him having to beat a hasty retreat, without the goods.

Now they're standing in the deserted street in a face-off, except, the Flash has the diamonds in his hands and is waving the necklace cheerfully in the air. "You're starting to make me lose my patience, kid," he growls, hands tightening on the cold gun ever-present by his side.

The Flash, the little shit, gives him a cheeky grin. "You mean, I'm just making you lose." And then he has the gall to turn away in preparation to, well, flash off. Is Captain Cold just not a worthy nemesis anymore? The big superhero thinks he can simply show his back to an angry enemy?

Okay, fine, Snart normally wouldn't shoot a guy in the back (that's cold, even for him), but in his defense, his finger's already on trigger before he can think better of it. The ice blast catches the Flash between the shoulder blades and throws him several feet until his body bounces to a stop and, of course, has to slam his head against the concrete a few times on the way, and then lies still.

For a long moment, Snart simply stares. What. That's it? He must be imagining things. But no, there's the crimson-clad form sprawled lifelessly on the road, even after he blinks several times.

When reality finally hits, he runs over, uncaring of the fact that he's skidding all over the now icy street. When Snart reaches his destination, he ends up on his knees. "Barry? Barry!" He's about to shake the man when the worry that he might damage the latter more, stops him. Snart carefully examines the other man's back. Unsurprisingly, it's encased in ice. Cautiously, he breaks off chunks until there's nothing left but the deep chill that has undoubtedly penetrated the skintight suit.

Then he sits back on his heels and wonders what to do. It turns out he's broken his cell phone irreparably in one of his falls, so he can't call Lisa or Mick to pick him up. He could go down a few blocks and call for help. Yup, that'd go over really well with the neighborhood residents. Fine. He could leave the Flash in front of a house, knock on the door, and disappear into the night. That seems like the best—

A tinny, scrambled voice that sounds rather like a panicking Cisco is calling out something about vital signs. Snart shakes himself and reaches for the earpiece, when Barry stirs, and Snart forgets about everything else.

"Ow," the young man groans.

Snart blurts, "Are you okay?"

Barry grimaces as he attempts to push himself up on his knuckles and fails miserably.

"Stop that," Snart orders.

"Everything hurts," Barry complains. "I can't believe you really shot me from behind."

"I actually didn't mean to, if that helps," Snart offers as a peace gesture.

Glaring at him, Barry retorts, "No, it doesn't. Jeez. What's wrong with you?"

Relieved that the Flash is still alive enough to even have an attitude, Snart regains some composure and lifts an eyebrow. "I'm one of the bad guys, remember?"

"Yeah, but come on, there's gotta be a code of ethics in that supervillain handbook or something."

Snart rolls his eyes and starts to get up. "Believe it or not, I don't follow the rules." He stares down at the Flash. "Why should I do you any favors?"

"I stopped you from committing a crime, didn't I?" the Flash snaps, rotating his shoulders with pathetic success.

"I noticed," Snart snorts without sympathy. "That's the problem."

"So, I helped you avoid the consequences, like, I don't know, jail." Barry winces when he tries to move further, and continues sulkily, "You should appreciate me."

The nerve of the kid. "Oh, I see. You've been getting in my way … to be nice?"

The Flash nods emphatically, but the motion must make him dizzy, because he promptly passes out again.

Snart pinches the bridge of his nose. He didn't ask for this, but here it is. Sighing heavily with the air of someone much put upon, he tucks his arms under the Flash and picks him up, grunting because damn, the kid is heavy, slim appearance to the contrary.

Knowing that he'll regret the decision, grievously, Snart begins to trudge in the direction of a safe house. It's only later that he realizes he forgot the diamonds that skittered somewhere into the darkness.

Once they arrive, Snart staggers to the couch and unceremoniously drops his burden onto the cushions. He's exhausted and irritable as he cracks his back and glances around out of habit. It's not a fancy place, this safehouse, but he's thankful for the pull-out couch Lisa insisted needed to be in the small living room. He genuinely might not have survived the last few steps down the hallway to the bedroom, and Snart figures Barry deserves more consideration than flopping onto the floor.

He has a plan: fix the Flash, and then send him on his way. He thinks he can accomplish this without too much embarrassment on the part of either of them, but the leather, or tripolymer whatever, is too thick and soaked for him to really dig in his fingers.

Yes, he's going to give the Hero of Central City a deep-tissue back massage. Having made this valiant decision, Snart maneuvers Barry until he's sitting upright, or at least waveringly upright, and after pulling back his cowl, starts to unzip the front of the top part of his suit.

Everything's very much fine until he's easing the fabric off Barry's shoulders and touching bare skin, and then his little finger accidentally grazes a small soft nipple and Barry makes a snuffling sound. Snart pauses to look at him, and he really, really shouldn't. The kid should look ridiculous, mouth fallen open, head hanging back, limbs loose … and his eyelashes are incredibly long. He's never been this close to Barry before, otherwise he'd have noticed.

It's entirely disconcerting to realize that he's wedged tight between the Flash's open legs and stripping him—and that he's chosen the worst time to be turned on. He's actually starting to throb in his pants, and this is beyond terrible, he needs to get a grip—

Fortunately he's distracted by Barry half-waking up and swatting weakly at the hands clutching at his suit. "What're you—doing?" The young man tries to scowl, but given that he's still mostly out of it, the expression isn't as intimidating as it should be.

"Just relax," Snart tells him. "I'll make this as painless as possible."

"Huh?" Barry blinks blearily at him.

Snart quickly takes off the rest of Barry's top half without additional mishap, and then turns him over onto his front. Barry begins to mumble protests, but Snart wants to get this over with and have the Flash out of here, so he ignores the garbled noises Barry is making into the cushions. His positions his fingers, and without further ado, pushes down.

The cold is still so deeply embedded in Barry's back that the chill stings his fingertips. Snart has to pull back and flex his hands before he can continue. Meanwhile, Barry is groaning from the sensations, and Snart is not imagining a completely different scenario. He's not.

"Mmhm …" Barry sighs as Snart's magic fingers dispel the chill. Snart doesn't miss observing that the kid is wound up tighter than … he's not going pursue that image. His back muscles are in gnarled knots. Snart supposes superhero business is stressful. He wouldn't know.

"Don't stop," Barry says petulantly when Snart slows down. Good. He's awake. Finally. Barry raises his head a little to the side and peers at him. "Lower, to the right, please."

Snart can only wonder what his expression is at the moment. "I'm your personal masseur now?"

Barry's grin is a little wobbly, and his eyes might be slightly crossed, but he's dead set on Snart continuing to work on him. "You're doing a great job," the kid assures him. "Five stars." When Snart doesn't answer, Barry goes on to say, as if it'll improve the situation, "I'll leave a good review on Yelp."

Snart can feel a headache coming on.

In the next chapter, there'll be negotiations and ground rules regarding booty calls and mutual gratification. And hopefully then I can get to sex. There are SO. MANY. great fics operating on this premise, I know, but I couldn't help trying out my own silly take on the situation.

I know, I know. No sex. It should start next chapter. Hopefully. I'm not dragging it out for fun—well, maybe a little—I really want to have a bit of story.

"That's it. Out." Snart sits back on his heels to allow Barry room to move. Only, he doesn't, and instead burrows further into the cushions.

Snart looks at him, perplexed. He doesn't have a contingency plan other than dragging the Flash to the door and kicking him to the curbside. "What's wrong?" he asks, because maybe he'd hurt Barry more than he suspected. "You can't move?"

Barry mutters something into the pillow he's mashing his face into.

"Flash, I don't speak gibberish."

Barry clears his throat and lifts his head to say a bit more audibly, "Uh. Give me a minute."

Snart isn't an unreasonable man. But the horror of Mick—or, worse, LISA—coming in and finding them together is a possibility, and he isn't chancing it because the Flash is getting too comfy on a couch in the living room of Snart's safehouse.

So without warning Snart hauls Barry up by the armpits and grapples him into a sitting position. He might be imagining things, but are those sparks seriously flashing on Barry's skin? "Okay, pretend this never—" And then he pauses, because there's something very recognizably hard against his knee, and thank fuck he's gotten his own arousal down by now. "Flash," he says slowly, "I know you don't carry a cold gun."

Before the facts can really sink in and he can laugh his head off, he realizes Barry is curled in on himself, absolutely miserable and humiliated. "Hey—" he starts to say.

Barry dares a glance at him, and must mistake the expression on his face for pity and not masculine understanding because he narrows his eyes in a challenge for Snart to finish speaking.

Snart takes a deep breath and decides not to test the limits of the Flash's temper. Just then the tinny voices of Caitlin and Cisco, muffled earlier by Barry's lying on the earpiece, screeching at Barry to pick up, breaks the tension.

Barry blanches. "I'mgoingnow," he announces in a rush, hurriedly pulling on his suit. And then he's gone, leaving Snart gazing after the lightning trail he leaves behind.

Snart's an opportunist. He acknowledges the fact without any shame. In his line of work, he's never had a steady resource for obtaining sexual release. More annoyingly, he's picky about his choice of partners. Still, he generally prefers women, the curvy and confident type. And then there's Barry Allen.

The last thing he expects is to see the Flash show up at another of his safehouses—he'd gotten rid of that one-appearing none the worse for the wear, a few days later. In fact, Barry breezes into his bedroom, irritatingly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at three in the morning.

"Found you," he says brightly, as though this is a game of hide-and-seek.

Snart groans and pulls a pillow over his head, trying not to be shocked that the Flash can apparently phase through solid objects. Like walls. "No, you haven't," he tells the blanket he's pulled up. "You just think you have."

He can feel Barry's frown as the kid places a hand on his shoulder and shakes him vigorously. "Wake up."

"No," Snart tells him implacably, preparing to go back to sleep.

"Snart. I'll sing if you don't," Barry warns.

Snart shrugs under the covers. How bad can it be?

As it turns out, Barry's voice is remarkably lovely, but when he starts warbling "Let it Go," Snart snaps and bolts upright. Lisa has been obsessed with the tune for weeks, and he doesn't ever want to hear it again. "What do you want?" he snarls.

Barry beams at him, seemingly cocksure, but there's an undercurrent of nervousness to him that he can't conceal. "I have a proposition."

PREVIEW

"Oh God." Snart's ready to roll off; his libido can go to hell. "You're a goddamned virgin." He hasn't signed up for this shit.

I know, the PREVIEW line didn't actually show up in this chapter. Sorry! Coming up in the next update! Or the next one! This is a setup to stuff. *sigh* I realize Barry is sneaky and considerably less law-abiding in this fic than in canon, but I just had fun. As always, thanks so much for reading/kudo-ing/reviewing! :D

"Flash, at the moment I'm an honest man trying to get some shuteye. Scram." Snart can't imagine what's so important that it couldn't wait until their next tête-à-tête. "

The Flash laughs at him as he tugs the blankets right off onto the floor. "Aren't you a little interested?" he wheedles.

Snart tries not to snarl at the barrage of light that is suddenly streaming in through his window curtains. Morning's on the way. Great. "Shockingly, no."

Watching the Flash wilt at his words is like purposely popping a little kid's last balloon at his first birthday party. He can't take this kind of stress. "All right. What is it?"

The Flash is sitting next to him on the bed in an instant, grinning as he tugs down his cowl. "First, tell me about the other day," he says.

Snart blinks. "I accidentally shot you in the back. You might recall."

The kid waves this away with an airy gesture. "Yeah, yeah. After that."

"I gave you a massage." Snart isn't entirely sure where this is going. He suspects, but needs further evidence to confirm.

"You did. It was great!" the Flash enthuses.

"Thank you," he says, dubiously. "Might I say, you seem a little … hard-up for tactile contact."

Barry starts to reply, pauses, and then stops entirely as he blushes. "I, uh … uh."

"While your terse eloquence never fails to astound me, I'm going to need a bit more than that. What are you proposing, exactly?"

"Can you do it again?" Barry says in a rush, picking at the threads of Snart's sheets. Snart fights the urge to tell him to leave off—that's a hundred percent cotton and isn't meant to be unraveled. "I slept really, really well afterward."

Snart squints at him. He needs coffee. "That's nice, kid. When I asked you what you're proposing, I meant, what's in it for me?"

"I'll give you a thirty-second head start the next time you try to rob Mercury Labs for that microchip upgrade you've been eyeing for your gun."

Coughing, Snart says, "I don't know what you're talking about. I would never. And why would you do that, anyway?"

"Honestly?" Barry asks.

"Please," Snart drawls.

Barry's smile is freakishly boyish and charming as he says, "I'm going to use the distraction you and the other Rogues make as a chance to, well, take a quick unsupervised tour of certain parts of the facility closed off to the public."

Snart's pretty sure he hasn't seen this sneaky side of the Flash before.

"So, don't forget to cut the camera feed," Barry reminds him. "I have this lightning trail, you might have seen it …"

"I think I have," Snart agrees, unwilling to question this opportunity.

"And then I'll go after you guys," the Flash concludes with a serious expression, "and get back everything you stole."

"Right." Snart files this piece of information away. "Of course. Wouldn't expect anything less."

"Great!" Barry takes that as his cue to flop down belly-first on Snart's bed and stretches luxuriously. "'kay, I'm ready."

Snart is still trying to process what's going on. It's too early to fully realize that the Flash has spread himself all over Snart's bed and is wriggling impatiently to get … started.

He knows what he's going to do—laugh at the kid, kick the Flash out on his ass, and then hold it over his head forever. And ever. Amen. What Snart actually ends up saying is, "Forty-five seconds."

Barry looks back at him over his shoulder. "Hm?"

"You offered thirty. I raise you to forty-five."

He can see Barry considering this. "All right, all right. You coming or what? The city isn't going to save itself."

Right. Obviously. Snart shrugs, leans over Barry, and begins to work his magic. A few minutes later: "Flash, quit moving. You're messing up my rhythm."

"Uh." Barry squirms. "It's kinda hard to … not."

No. NO. Snart shoves him off the bed. Barry blinks at him owlishly from the floor. "Were you rubbing off? On MY bed?"

Barry looks decidedly shifty. "No?" But the evidence in his pants is pretty damning.

"Shit, kid. When's the last time you got laid?" Snart demands, interested despite himself.

Barry looks shiftier. "Um."

"Huh." Snart thinks about this. "Wanna fuck?" he suggests, because, why not.

Barry blushes crimson, as red as his suit, and look, he's bounced back onto the bed. "Ohwowreallythatwouldbeawesome," he gushes.

Snart crack his knuckles and rolls his neck. "Okay. Let's do this."

About an immensely enjoyable minute into "this" he comes to an unpleasant realization. Well, it isn't entirely unpleasant—after all, it involves him making out with the Flash. Snart swears he can literally feel sparks between them. There's also a fantastic full-body vibration thing Barry's doing. Except, they've just started kissing, with a little humping on the side, Snart is unzipping the suit's pants, and then—

-Barry comes, spurting all over his hand. Snart isn't immediately cognizant of what's happened. His brain's been a little fogged with lust, okay? And then it clicks. "You haven't just not fucked for a while. You haven't … at all."

Barry is still panting, but looks at him hopefully. "I promise I learn quick."

"Oh God." Snart's ready to roll off; his libido can go to hell. "You're a goddamned virgin." He hasn't signed up for this shit.

Barry grabs his arms. "Wait! What's wrong?"

Snart looks longingly at the kitchen, where a coffeemaker is waiting for him. "I don't fuck with virgins."

"Why not?" Barry demands indignantly. "We're people too."

Snart rubs his eyes. "Because complications follow. There's a sense of responsibility. All the problems that don't accompany one-night stands."

Barry's mouth is set in a mutinous line. "But, I wouldn't—" he continues stubbornly.

"Look, I'm flattered," Snart says, "But I have fairly solid evidence that says your sexual orientation is singularly Iris West."

Barry sits up. "She's with Eddie."

"Oh, tragedy. And don't tell me, you've been saving yourself for that One True Love."

"No," Barry corrects him. "I almost had sex with a girl as a teenager."

"Almost, hm?"

"Yeah. Becky Cooper. I, uh, got too excited, and …" Snart reaches up to pull down Barry's hands just as the kid is about to cover his face in complete embarrassment. "She laughed at me," he mumbles.

Ouch. Snart lies down and resignedly pats the empty side next to him. "So what's stopping you now?"

Barry gives him a Look and stays upright. "I've been busy."

"Come on. Go to a bar, pick up someone who catches your eye—"

"Also, I really can't do casual hookups."

Snart sighs. "I know you heroes have these pesky morals—"

"No, not about that."

"Then …?"

Sighing, Barry lets his head thud on the pillow next to Snart. "Since the particle accelerator and the lightning strike, I start to, uh, show some odd features of being the Flash. You know, the vibrating, the sparks."

"Ah. You can't help those."

"No," Barry says unhappily. "I really can't."

Snart feels sympathy. He honestly does. That's gotta suck for the healthy young man behind the cowl. "Dead giveaways, those."

"Yeah."

Snart stares at the ceiling and thinks about the new spin on the situation.

Barry leans on his elbow to look over at him. "What can I do to convince you to have sex with me?"

The make-out session is getting hotter by the second: Barry's hands are sliding with unpracticed eagerness across his sides and stomach, Snart growls and pushes Barry against the wall, Barry makes a surprised sound—

-and Snart's in his bedroom alone, and there's the sound of a body hitting the floor. On the other side of the wall.

"I'm okay!" Barry calls out a moment later.


	2. Chapter 2

LAST TIME:

"Also, I really can't do casual hookups."

Snart sighs. "I know you heroes have these pesky morals—"

"No, not about that."

"Then …?"

Sighing, Barry lets his head thud on the pillow next to Snart. "Since the particle accelerator and the lightning strike, I start to, uh, show some odd features of being the Flash. You know, the vibrating, the sparks."

"Ah. You can't help those."

"No," Barry says unhappily. "I really can't."

Snart feels sympathy. He honestly does. That's gotta suck for the healthy young man behind the cowl. "Dead giveaways, those."

"Yeah."

Snart stares at the ceiling and thinks about the new spin on the situation.

Barry leans on his elbow to look over at him. "What can I do to convince you to have sex with me?"

THIS CHAPTER

Len resumes staring at the ceiling, mind now whirling with possibilities.

"Snart?"

"I'm thinking."

"Okay."

Two seconds later: "Can you think faster?"

Len pointedly elbows him. "You're messing with my thought process. Shush."

"Okay, okay." Barry drums his booted heels on the bedframe. Yeah, not in Len's house. "Take off your shoes before you get in bed."

"Fine," Barry sighs, before realizing what Len's just said. He's on his feet jumping around and tugging off his boots before the sheets finish fluttering down. "I can do that!"

"Barry," Len chided. "The neighbors will hear."

"Oh," Barry lowers his volume. "Sorry, neighbors. You know, this is a really nice residential area, Snart. I thought you'd live in this subterranean cave—"

Len clears his throat. Barry subsides. "I like having a HOA around. Keeps the front lawns neat. And … call me Len."

"Uh, sure. Len," Barry wrinkles his forehead as he tries out the name. "Len. Len. Len-."

Time to put a stop to that. "Right, then. Ground rules. Are you paying attention? I'm going to quiz you later."

Barry raises a hand.

"Christ, don't raise your—what?" Len isn't keen on being interrupted.

"Can we renegotiate the terms later?" Barry wants to know.

Len considers this request. "Yes." Barry lowers his hand but keeps his spine straight, looking very attentive.  
"No strings."

"No strings," Barry echoes.

"Anytime either of us wants to break this arrangement off, it's done."

"Done."

"If we text, no emoticons. Not even a smiley face."

"Bad emoticons." Barry waits for further instruction. Len isn't buying the act.

"One more thing."

"Yeah?"

"There's a little old lady next door who's obsessed with the Flash. She's dying to see more of him—apparently watching daily news coverage isn't enough."

Barry looks at him blankly. "Should I bring her flowers in costume?"

"I want you to walk into her living room."

"Uh. Isn't that home invasion?"

"I'm not done. Walk into her living room—make sure you go through a wall—and show her all of him."

Barry takes a moment to process. Then: "I'll put it on my to-do list."

"You're thinking with your dick," Len observes.

Barry nods agreeably. "Yup."

"You'd say anything to get laid right now."

Barry nods again. "Absolutely."

"I think we're set, then." Len looks at Barry, who looks back at Len expectantly. "Anytime you're ready," Len says when Barry remains standing in the middle of the room.

"Oh—oh!" Given the green light, Barry jumps him. There's a very enjoyable tussle on the bed as to who gets to be on top—Barry's stronger and faster, but he's also ticklish, and Len has no qualms exploiting this weakness. They end up on the floor with a thump but neither of them care much because they're kinda concentrating on something important and also Len's carpet is the plush kind.

Somehow, they manage to roll into a standing position. Barry's hands slide with unpracticed eagerness across his sides and stomach. Len growls—he'll deny it later—and grabs Barry by the back of his thighs to lift him waist-high—his back will seriously hate him later. The unexpected move is apparently a huge turn-on for Barry, who makes a surprised sound as he's slammed against the wall—  
-and Len's in his bedroom alone, and there's the sound of a body hitting the floor. On the other side of the wall.

"I'm okay!" Barry calls out a moment later.

****  
PREVIEW

There's something evilly satisfying about making the Flash turn into putty. Len takes his time to do exactly that, sucking on Barry's tongue and biting just a little too hard on his lower lip. Barry's breath hitches, a vibration under Len's wandering hands as calloused fingers find flushed little nipples and circle them with tortuous slowness.

Then Len pulls away, leaving Barry with his jacket gaping open and swaying toward him as though drawn by a magnet. "You should sit down for the next part," Len suggests, licking his lips.

"Huh?" Barry's not at his most articulate.

Len wonders how Barry would feel about featuring in a private adult video that Len could put on repeat but decides the idea wouldn't go over well. Sex tapes have a way of leaking out into the public domain, anyway. The last thing the world needs is for the Flash to turn into another Kim Kardashian.

"Len." Barry's peevish voice brings Len back from his dark, dark thoughts. "Earth 1 to Leonard Snart."

"Mm." Len blinks away the disturbing idea.

"Focus, please," Barry says with exaggerated patience.

What's he blathering about now? "I *am* focused. I'm totally zeroed in on you. You are the sole object of my attention at this moment."

"Yeah, right. You're thinking of a really juicy Belly Burger, aren't you?" Barry accuses, crossing his arms.

Len gazes at Barry's dreamy expression, noting what a lovely green the young man's eyes are even half-shuttered with desire, with a great deal of interest. "You like that?"

"Yes. So like." Barry blinks rapidly, trying to clear his head.

Mnm. "I think you'll like this next part more. Like I said, you'll want to sit down."

Barry recollects himself enough to scoff. "I don't need to sit down."

"Your knees are wobbling," Len points out gleefully.

Barry gets a grip; Len's words are getting his hackles up. "I'm fine standing," he says defiantly.

Len shrugs easily. "I warned you," he says as he kneels in front of Barry.

Barry peers down at him. "Why are-oh!" His eyes grow huge. Such a bright pretty green, even from this distance. "Are you ..." he stammers, looking gobsmacked. "Are you ... gonna give me ... a *blowjob*?"

"If that's *okay* with you," Len says meaningfully, placing his hands on Barry's legs.

If possible, Barry's eyes widen even further as what's going to happen to him sinks in. "Yes! Okay! Very very okay. I am so on board with this plan!"

Len hasn't gotten up past Barry's knees before Central City's most celebrated hero falls backward on his ass.


	3. Chapter 3

"That's it. Out." Snart sits back on his heels to allow Barry room to move. Only, he doesn't, and instead burrows further into the cushions.

Snart looks at him, perplexed. He doesn't have a contingency plan other than dragging the Flash to the door and kicking him to the curbside. "What's wrong?" he asks, because maybe he'd hurt Barry more than he suspected. "You can't move?"

Barry mutters something into the pillow he's mashing his face into.

"Flash, I don't speak gibberish."

Barry clears his throat and lifts his head to say a bit more audibly, "Uh. Give me a minute."

Snart isn't an unreasonable man. But the horror of Mick—or, worse, LISA—coming in and finding them together is a possibility, and he isn't chancing it because the Flash is getting too comfy on a couch in the living room of Snart's safehouse.

So without warning Snart hauls Barry up by the armpits and grapples him into a sitting position. He might be imagining things, but are those sparks seriously flashing on Barry's skin? "Okay, pretend this never—" And then he pauses, because there's something very recognizably hard against his knee, and thank fuck he's gotten his own arousal down by now. "Flash," he says slowly, "I know you don't carry a cold gun."

Before the facts can really sink in and he can laugh his head off, he realizes Barry is curled in on himself, absolutely miserable and humiliated. "Hey—" he starts to say.

Barry dares a glance at him, and must mistake the expression on his face for pity and not masculine understanding because he narrows his eyes in a challenge for Snart to finish speaking.  
Snart takes a deep breath and decides not to test the limits of the Flash's temper. Just then the tinny voices of Caitlin and Cisco, muffled earlier by Barry's lying on the earpiece, screeching at Barry to pick up, breaks the tension.

Barry blanches. "I'mgoingnow," he announces in a rush, hurriedly pulling on his suit. And then he's gone, leaving Snart gazing after the lightning trail he leaves behind.  
Snart's an opportunist. He acknowledges the fact without any shame. In his line of work, he's never had a steady resource for obtaining sexual release. More annoyingly, he's picky about his choice of partners. Still, he generally prefers women, the curvy and confident type. And then there's Barry Allen.

The last thing he expects is to see the Flash show up at another of his safehouses—he'd gotten rid of that one-appearing none the worse for the wear, a few days later. In fact, Barry breezes into his bedroom, irritatingly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at three in the morning.

"Found you," he says brightly, as though this is a game of hide-and-seek.

Snart groans and pulls a pillow over his head, trying not to be shocked that the Flash can apparently phase through solid objects. Like walls. "No, you haven't," he tells the blanket he's pulled up. "You just think you have."

He can feel Barry's frown as the kid places a hand on his shoulder and shakes him vigorously. "Wake up."

"No," Snart tells him implacably, preparing to go back to sleep.

"Snart. I'll sing if you don't," Barry warns.

Snart shrugs under the covers. How bad can it be?

As it turns out, Barry's voice is remarkably lovely, but when he starts warbling "Let it Go," Snart snaps and bolts upright. Lisa has been obsessed with the tune for weeks, and he doesn't ever want to hear it again. "What do you want?" he snarls.

Barry beams at him, seemingly cocksure, but there's an undercurrent of nervousness to him that he can't conceal. "I have a proposition."

PREVIEW  
"Oh fuck." Snart's ready to roll off; his libido can go to hell. "You're a goddamned virgin." He hasn't signed up for this shit.


	4. Chapter 4

"Flash, at the moment I'm an honest man trying to get some shuteye. Scram." Snart can't imagine what's so important that it couldn't wait until their next tête-à-tête. "

The Flash laughs at him as he tugs the blankets right off onto the floor. "Aren't you a little interested?" he wheedles.

Snart tries not to snarl at the barrage of light that is suddenly streaming in through his window curtains. Morning's on the way. Great. "Shockingly, no."

Watching the Flash wilt at his words is like purposely popping a little kid's last balloon at his first birthday party. He can't take this kind of stress. "All right. What is it?"

The Flash is sitting next to him on the bed in an instant, grinning as he tugs down his cowl. "First, tell me about the other day," he says.

Snart blinks. "I accidentally shot you in the back. You might recall."

The kid waves this away with an airy gesture. "Yeah, yeah. After that."

"I gave you a massage." Snart isn't entirely sure where this is going. He suspects, but needs further evidence to confirm.

"You did. It was great!" the Flash enthuses.

"Thank you," he says, dubiously. "Might I say, you seem a little … hard-up for tactile contact."

Barry starts to reply, pauses, and then stops entirely as he blushes. "I, uh … uh."

"While your terse eloquence never fails to astound me, I'm going to need a bit more than that. What are you proposing, exactly?"

"Can you do it again?" Barry says in a rush, picking at the threads of Snart's sheets. Snart fights the urge to tell him to leave off—that's a hundred percent cotton and isn't meant to be unraveled. "I slept really, really well afterward."

Snart squints at him. He needs coffee. "That's nice, kid. When I asked you what you're proposing, I meant, what's in it for me?"

"I'll give you a thirty-second head start the next time you try to rob Mercury Labs for that microchip upgrade you've been eyeing for your gun."

Coughing, Snart says, "I don't know what you're talking about. I would never. And why would you do that, anyway?"

"Honestly?" Barry asks.

"Please," Snart drawls.

Barry's smile is freakishly boyish and charming as he says, "I'm going to use the distraction you and the other Rogues make as a chance to, well, take a quick unsupervised tour of certain parts of the facility closed off to the public."

Snart's pretty sure he hasn't seen this sneaky side of the Flash before.

"So, don't forget to cut the camera feed," Barry reminds him. "I have this lightning trail, you might have seen it …"

"I think I have," Snart agrees, unwilling to question this opportunity.

"And then I'll go after you guys," the Flash concludes with a serious expression, "and get back everything you stole."

"Right." Snart files this piece of information away. "Of course. Wouldn't expect anything less."

"Great!" Barry takes that as his cue to flop down belly-first on Snart's bed and stretches luxuriously. "'kay, I'm ready."


	5. Chapter 5

Snart is still trying to process what's going on. It's too early to fully realize that the Flash has spread himself all over Snart's bed and is wriggling impatiently to get … started.

He knows what he's going to do—laugh at the kid, kick the Flash out on his ass, and then hold it over his head forever. And ever. Amen. What Snart actually ends up saying is, "Forty-five seconds."

Barry looks back at him over his shoulder. "Hm?"

"You offered thirty. I raise you to forty-five."

He can see Barry considering this. "All right, all right. You coming or what? The city isn't going to save itself."

Right. Obviously. Snart shrugs, leans over Barry, and begins to work his magic. A few minutes later: "Flash, quit moving. You're messing up my rhythm."

"Uh." Barry squirms. "It's kinda hard to … not."

No. NO. Snart unceremoniously shoves him off the bed. Barry blinks at him owlishly from the floor. "Were you rubbing off? On MY bed?"

Barry looks decidedly shifty. "No?" But the evidence in his pants is pretty damning.

"Shit, kid. When's the last time you got laid?" Snart demands, interested despite himself.

Barry looks shiftier. "Um."

"Huh." Snart thinks about this. "Wanna fuck?" he suggests, because, why not.

Barry blushes crimson, as red as his suit, and look, he's bounced back onto the bed. "Ohwowreallythatwouldbeawesome," he gushes.

Snart crack his knuckles and rolls his neck. "Okay. Let's do this."

About an immensely enjoyable minute into "this" he comes to an unpleasant realization. Well, it isn't entirely unpleasant—after all, it involves him making out with the Flash. Snart swears he can literally feel sparks between them. There's also a fantastic full-body vibration thing Barry's doing. Except, they've just started kissing, with a little humping on the side, Snart is unzipping the suit's pants, and then—

-Barry comes, spurting all over his hand. Snart isn't immediately cognizant of what's happened. His brain's been a little fogged with lust, okay? And then it clicks. "You haven't just not fucked for a while. You haven't … at all."

Barry is still panting, but looks at him hopefully. "I promise I learn quick."

"Oh God." Snart's ready to roll off; his libido can go to hell. "You're a goddamned virgin." He hasn't signed up for this shit.

Barry grabs his arms. "Wait! What's wrong?"

Snart looks longingly at the kitchen, where a coffeemaker is waiting for him. "I don't fuck with virgins."

"Why not?" Barry demands indignantly. "We're people too."

Snart rubs his eyes. "Because complications follow. There's a sense of responsibility. All the problems that don't accompany one-night stands."

Barry's mouth is set in a mutinous line. "But, I wouldn't—" he continues stubbornly.

"Look, I'm flattered," Snart says, "But I have fairly solid evidence that says your sexual orientation is singularly Iris West."

Barry sits up. "She's with Eddie."

"Oh, tragedy. And don't tell me, you've been saving yourself for that One True Love."

"No," Barry corrects him. "I almost had sex with a girl as a teenager."

"Almost, hm?"

"Yeah. Becky Cooper. I, uh, got too excited, and …" Snart reaches up to pull down Barry's hands just as the kid is about to cover his face in complete embarrassment. "She laughed at me," he mumbles.

Ouch. Snart lies down and resignedly pats the empty side next to him. "So what's stopping you now?"

Barry gives him a Look and stays upright. "I've been busy."

"Come on. Go to a bar, pick up someone who catches your eye—"

"Also, I really can't do casual hookups."

Snart sighs. "I know you heroes have these pesky morals—"

"No, not about that."

"Then …?"

Sighing, Barry lets his head thud on the pillow next to Snart. "Since the particle accelerator and the lightning strike, I start to, uh, show some odd features of being the Flash. You know, the vibrating, the sparks."

"Ah. You can't help those."

"No," Barry says unhappily. "I really can't."

Snart feels sympathy. He honestly does. That's gotta suck for the healthy young man behind the cowl. "Dead giveaways, those."

"Yeah."

Snart stares at the ceiling and thinks about the new spin on the situation.

Barry leans on his elbow to look over at him. "What can I do to convince you to have sex with me?"


	6. Chapter 6

Len resumes staring at the ceiling, mind now whirling with possibilities.

"Snart?"

"I'm thinking."

"Okay."

Two seconds later: "Can you think faster?"

Len pointedly elbows him. "You're messing with my thought process. Shush."

"Okay, okay." Barry drums his booted heels on the bedframe. Yeah, not in Len's house. "Take off your shoes before you get in bed."

"Fine," Barry sighs, before realizing what Len's just said. He's on his feet jumping around and tugging off his boots before the sheets finish fluttering down. "I can do that!"

"Barry," Len chided. "The neighbors will hear."

"Oh," Barry lowers his volume. "Sorry, neighbors. You know, this is a really nice residential area, Snart. I thought you'd live in this subterranean cave—"

Len clears his throat. Barry subsides. "I like having a HOA around. Keeps the front lawns neat. And … call me Len."

"Uh, sure. Len," Barry wrinkles his forehead as he tries out the name. "Len. Len. Len-."

Time to put a stop to that. "Right, then. Ground rules. Are you paying attention? I'm going to quiz you later."

Barry raises a hand.

"Christ, don't raise your—what?" Len isn't keen on being interrupted.

"Can we renegotiate the terms later?" Barry wants to know.

Len considers this request. "Yes." Barry lowers his hand but keeps his spine straight, looking very attentive.  
"No strings."

"No strings," Barry echoes.

"Anytime either of us wants to break this arrangement off, it's done."

"Done."

"If we text, no emoticons. Not even a smiley face."

"Bad emoticons." Barry waits for further instruction. Len isn't buying the act.

"One more thing."

"Yeah?"

"There's a little old lady next door who's obsessed with the Flash. She's dying to see more of him—apparently watching daily news coverage isn't enough."

Barry looks at him blankly. "Should I bring her flowers in costume?"

"I want you to walk into her living room."

"Uh. Isn't that home invasion?"

"I'm not done. Walk into her living room—make sure you go through a wall—and show her all of him."

Barry takes a moment to process. Then: "I'll put it on my to-do list."

"You're thinking with your dick," Len observes.

Barry nods agreeably. "Yup."

"You'd say anything to get laid right now."

Barry nods again. "Absolutely."

"I think we're set, then." Len looks at Barry, who looks back at Len expectantly. "Anytime you're ready," Len says when Barry remains standing in the middle of the room.

"Oh—oh!" Given the green light, Barry jumps him. There's a very enjoyable tussle on the bed as to who gets to be on top—Barry's stronger and faster, but he's also ticklish, and Len has no qualms exploiting this weakness. They end up on the floor with a thump but neither of them care much because they're kinda concentrating on something important and also Len's carpet is the plush kind.

Somehow, they manage to roll into a standing position. Barry's hands slide with unpracticed eagerness across his sides and stomach. Len growls—he'll deny it later—and grabs Barry by the back of his thighs to lift him waist-high—his back will seriously hate him later. The unexpected move is apparently a huge turn-on for Barry, who makes a surprised sound as he's slammed against the wall—  
-and Len's in his bedroom alone, and there's the sound of a body hitting the floor. On the other side of the wall.

"I'm okay!" Barry calls out a moment later.


	7. Chapter 7

There's something unvirtuously satisfying about making the Flash turn into putty. Len takes his time to do exactly that, sucking on Barry's tongue and biting just a little too hard on his lower lip. Barry's breath hitches, a vibration under Len's wandering hands as calloused fingers find flushed little nipples and circle them with tortuous slowness.

Then Len pulls away, leaving Barry with his jacket gaping open and swaying toward him as though drawn by a magnet. "You should sit down for the next part," Len suggests, licking his lips.

"Huh?" Barry's not at his most articulate.

Len wonders how Barry would feel about featuring in a private adult video that Len could put on repeat but decides the idea wouldn't go over well. Sex tapes have a way of leaking out into the public domain, anyway. The last thing the world needs is for the Flash to turn into another Kim Kardashian.

"Len." Barry's peevish voice brings Len back from his dark, dark thoughts. "Earth 1 to Leonard Snart."

"Mm." Len blinks away the disturbing idea.

"Focus, please," Barry says with exaggerated patience.

What's he blathering about now? "I *am* focused. I'm totally zeroed in on you. You are the sole object my attention at this moment."

"Yeah, right. You're thinking of a really juicy Belly Burger, aren't you?" Barry accuses, crossing his arms.

Len frowns, at a loss. "Trust me when I say I'm not."

Barry's expression is dubious. "You look really hungry."

Len wants to smack himself. Or Barry. Yeah, he'd like to smack Barry. On the ass. "I'm not hungry—for food," Len clarifies, staring at Barry with purposeful intent.

Barry finally gets it. Partly. "Oh! Is that a sex metaphor?" he asks, like he's had a revelation. "You want—you want *me* like that?"

Len's jaw isn't dropping. It isn't. There's no photographic evidence. "Barry," Len says, very slowly, "why do you think we're having sex?"

"Pity fuck," Barry says without hesitation.

"And … that wouldn't have bothered you?" For a few long moments Len can't find the words to respond further.

"Desperate," Barry reminds him. "And …" here he has the decency to look embarrassed. "I think you're really attractive, and if you weren't actively suffering from the experience of helping me get off …" He rushes on, "I could, like, do things for you that wouldn't involve breaking the law."

Wow. This is a new level of low Len wouldn't have believed possible. "Like … what?"

Barry ticks off a few options on his fingers. "Deliver pizza the second it's out of the oven. Go grocery shopping in a five-minute window, seven for bulk orders. Get you to any doctor's appointment two hours early, if you wanted. Seriously, I can be super useful. Amazon one-day free shipping has nothing on me."

Len can't. He just … can't.

Barry seems to realize then that something's off about the current atmosphere. "Is this … going to be a problem?" he asks, cautiously.

"You must think I'm a much better man than I am," Len tells him. Then they make out some more.

Len gazes at Barry's dreamy expression, noting what a lovely green the young man's eyes are even half-shuttered with desire, with a great deal of interest. "You like that?"

"Yes. So like." Barry blinks rapidly, trying to clear his head.

Mnm. "I think you'll like this next part more. Like I said, you'll want to sit down."

Barry recollects himself enough to scoff. "I don't need to sit down."

"Your knees are wobbling," Len points out gleefully.

Barry gets a grip; Len's words are getting his hackles up. "I'm fine standing," he says defiantly.

Len shrugs easily. "I warned you," he says as he kneels in front of Barry.

Barry peers down at him. "Why are-oh!" His eyes grow huge. Such a bright pretty green, even from this distance. "Are you ..." he stammers, looking gobsmacked. "Are you ... gonna give me ... a *blowjob*?"

"I was planning on it. If that's *okay* with you," Len says meaningfully, placing his hands on Barry's shins.

If possible, Barry's eyes widen even further as what's going to happen to him sinks in. "Yes! Okay! Very very okay. I am so on board with this plan!"

Len hasn't gotten up past Barry's knees before Central City's most celebrated hero falls backward on his ass.

Well. That went about as well as could be expected. Barry scoots backward as Len stalks him until the latter's back bumps up against the bed frame. "Up," Len orders.

Barry practically glows as he obeys. "Are we going to do real sex things now?"

Len has to close his eyes for a few moments. "Yeah. We're going to do real sex things." He leans over Barry, who's lying back on his elbows and beaming up at him. Barry then starts to try to do everything at once—take off his own clothes while grabbing at Len all over.

Len gently gets a hold of Barry's wrists and pins them to the mattress."No, you don't touch. You have no clue what you're doing."

"But—"

"Just lie back and look pretty," Snart instructs him.

Barry grumbles but does as he's told. Snart doesn't miss the flush spreading down his neck when he's ordered around. Barry hadn't finished pulling off the top half of his suit when Snart stopped him from reaching over, and now the red fabric is bunched up around his elbows, chest and upper arms exposed, as he actually listens to Snart for once, and leans on his arms behind him. Between his semi-nakedness and the obvious bulge in the front of his opened pants, now dragged down to show more than a little of his dark blue briefs, he looks … absolutely edible.

Barry is clearly starting to feel self-conscious under Snart's intense regard. "Why are you … doing that?" he demands, shifting uncomfortably.

"I'm admiring the view," Snart tells him brusquely. He'd tell Barry to stop squirming, but the abortive movements are sexy as fuck, and it's like Snart is getting a private show for himself. From the Flash. He'd like to gloat, he would, but he's otherwise occupied at the moment.

Barry's expression is dubious. "What's there to see?" he wants to know. "Uh." More squirming. "Uh. Can we move on to the part where you take off your clothes?"

After another long moment—he's memorizing the sight, all right? For future reference—he takes pity on the kid and tugs off his shirt and pants without thinking much about it, eyes still glued to Barry, until he notices that Barry is staring at him, wide-eyed, mouth open.

"What?" Snart grunts, a little defensively. He has several scars and a myriad of tattoos scattered over his body, while Barry's skin is as soft and unblemished as a baby's save for a cute smattering of moles every now and again. And he hasn't forgotten that he's forty-three, and Barry's in his mid-twenties.

"You're really hot," the kid blurts, a bit faintly, as if he's too surprised by his own words to fully articulate them.

"News, Flash," Snart replies, now somewhat amused. "Don't rub it in."

Barry snorts. "I see what you did there."


	8. Chapter 8

"Len," Barry whispers, his expression wondering. "Len. Wow." Then, with a final ecstatic shudder, his eyes roll up and he's out for the count.

Snart stares at him. He's doing it anyway—the boy is really something to see, especially when he's lost in pleasure—but his other partners haven't ever, er, lost consciousness from the sheer bliss of fucking.

He doesn't have a chance to think about it longer, though, because his body is still moving on autopilot, frantic for its own gratification, and moments later he's sucked into an incredible orgasm. Chest heaving, he pulls out and collapses onto the bed next to Barry.

God, that was fantastic.

A couple of minutes pass before Len's brain gets some blood flowing in and he realizes Barry hasn't moved. "Hey."

No response.

Len pulls himself up to peer down at Barry, who's completely conked out but breathing fine. Oh shit. He's broken the Flash. With overly awesome sex. He can see the "flashy" headlines already.

"Bar. Energy. Suit. Argh."

Groaning, Len goes to fetch said energy bar and shoves it into Barry's face. Barry lethargically motions for him to break it into little pieces. Now glowering, Len does that and THEN mashes them into Barry's expectantly open mouth. Finally, Len eases himself back on his back and proceeds to bask in post-coital glow.

Len closes his eyes for what feels like a minute, before he feels someone poking his arm. He reluctantly opens his eyes to see Barry leaning over him with a huge grin on his face. "Can we do it again?" the boy asks eagerly.

Len throws an arm over his face. He can't believe this. "NO, Barry. We cannot do it again," he enunciates slowly. "Besides—" And … he can feel that Barry's hard again against his thigh. "You have got to be kidding me."

Barry looks sheepish. "I don't really have a refractory period anymore."

That makes Len sit up. Insane ideas about how that could come in handy flit through his mind. But then his mortal body reminds him he's not a teenager, and that he's not going another round for a while. "Not my problem," he tells Barry, although he'd very. much. like it to be his problem.

"Oh. Okay." Barry deflates and lies back down. Except, he doesn't deflate, so to speak, and is moving restlessly enough that Len isn't going to be sleeping anytime soon. Well. "Fine, I'll give you a hand." Len turns on his side, props up his head on one arm, and does exactly that. Barry's brilliant smile, the hot feel of him, and the breathy sounds he makes are adequate to recompense Len for his trouble.

And there's always later for payback. And after that. And, well, after that.


End file.
